


Dawn of Justice

by orphan_account



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mentionings of incredibly sensive topics, They won't be in depth but they are very dark so this is a warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bruce Wayne has lost his son, his world has become bitter and crueller, darker and wearier. He is lost.Diana Prince has spent nearly a hundred years in Man's World and she is fighting the darkness that threatens to overwhelm her.Will they find hope in each other or will they fall into the darkness that threatens to overwhelm them both?
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance for any errors. Ask any questions and I'll answer to the best of my ability.

It was sudden. Swifter than a cheetah. Harsher than the crack of a whip.

_BANG_

The man fell, the woman letting out a bloodcurdling scream as she helplessly watched her husband fall.

He advanced quickly; gun pointed to the woman now leaning over her dying husband’s body, eyes black and inhuman.

_BANG_

The pearls scattered, the woman jerked back, blood splattering from her chest as she fell off pf her husband and onto the cold, wet alley floor.

Her eyes, once a warm hazel, became empty as they dilated slowly.

 _“Martha.”_ The man gasped as he slowly bled to death, watching as his wife died in front of him, just barely out of arms reach.

He was cut off by the piercing shriek of an eight-year-old boy, shock and fear and pain filling his youthful eyes and the man looked at his son, eyes becoming dimmer as his life trickled away like sand in an hourglass.

 _“Bruce.”_ The man said, looking at his son in his dying moments.

“ _Don’t be afraid.”_

……………………………………………………………………………………

He woke with a jolt, gasping fearfully for air, hands clutching his sweaty sheets as he returned to reality and escaped the dark recesses of his subconscious.

It took two minutes before his breathing returned to normal, throat dry and skin sticky and hot.

Bruce Wayne hated to sleep. It was a terrible thing for him to say when he had a king-sized bed, warm bedsheets, fluffy pillows and a roof over his head. But it was true.

It was not the act of sleeping itself that made Bruce hate it, though he loathed the fact that he couldn’t work more due to his body’s need to recharge itself.

No, the thing Bruce Wayne hated about sleeping was the nightmares. The constant reminders of one of his biggest failures.

Being unable to save his parents. Unable to help and change Gotham for the better despite his wealth and power. Not being strong enough to be a good father for Dick and Jason.

His biggest failure was failing Jason.

……………………………………………………………………………………

_The Batmobile thrummed beneath his touch as he swerved through Gotham’s streets, the red dot on his GPS glaring more brightly than the sun, the sounds of the Joker’s cackling laughter, Jason’s pained gasps for breath and a strange incessant ticking poured through the audio Bruce currently had playing, desperate to reach the warehouse before it was too late._

_The cackling stopped, the wheezing breaths growing more ragged and longer, the sounds of his own harsh breathing filling his ears and merging into a sort of white noise of tension, fear and chaos._

_The Joker sighed; he heard the sound of metal clanging onto the floor._

_“Well its been fun little birdy.” Joker said, mockingly remorseful. “But I’m afraid playtime’s over.”_

_Bruce could hear the Joker stroll away from Jason, who was coughing and wheezing desperately, each pained gasp for air creating another hole in Bruce’s heart._

_“Say hi to Bats for me.” Joker said, the Batmobile swerving and barely avoiding hitting an old pedestrian as she crossed the road slowly._

_“In hell!” The Joker yelled, cackling slowly growing more distant as Jason’s pained breaths poured through the running audio._

_“Hang on Jason!” Bruce yelled, not caring if Joker or any henchmen heard, the pained gasps of his second son filling him with a fear he had not felt since he was eight years old._

_He was there! The warehouse was right there!_

_He would get Jason straight to the Batcave, already opening his communication to Alfred to prepare the emergency table at the Batcave._

_The canopy to the Batmobile burst open and Bruce leaped out, landing just as he heard his son say his last word through the open audio link._

_“Dad…” He gasped, bloodily, painfully, his voice filled with knowledge and fear at what was about to come, his voice filled with a desperate need for reassurance of some kind from his father._

_Then the warehouse burst into flames, brick and metal and glass flying in every direction. Orange and yellow flames burst out, curling and burning into a black, acrid smoke. Bruce soared through the air with the force of the impact, thunking onto the hood of the Batmobile with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs._

_Everything seemed to slow down yet quicken to such a fast pace that Bruce could see the fire turn to ash._

_He stumbled through the wreckage, his son’s name on his lips as he yelled, desperate for a response._

_Jason was not dead. He couldn’t be. He was hurt. He needed Bruce. He needed his father._

_Then he staggered, his breath hitching as pain and grief and overwhelming terror filled every square inch of his body and soul._

_This wasn’t happening. Scarecrow must’ve injected fear toxins into him somehow and where._

_Bruce fell to his knees, tears spilling from behind his masked face. His chest was tight and coiled, every muscle in his body loose and sagging as he gently and reverently moved Jason’s body onto his lap, cradling the corpse of his son._

_Jason’s hair was singed off, his face holding multiple cuts from shrapnel and glass and who knows what._

_His eyes stared lifelessly from behind his domino mask, the yellow R on his uniform was burned off, his costume in tatters._

_Bruce heard nothing. The sound of sirens in the distance faded alongside the crackling of a few still burning fires._

_He cradled his son, gently stroking his hair, trying to wake him up, give him fatherly affection._

_He did not know and the only thing he cared about in that moment was holding his son._

_……………………………………………………………………………………_

Gordon arrived with the GCPD at his back five minutes after the explosion. The sight of the menacing Batman on his knees, crying shamelessly as he held the dead Boy Wonder in his arms both shocked and scared them. They knew that Gotham’s criminals were going to burn for this.

They didn’t know how right they were.

Pulling off the sweaty sheets, Bruce staggered out of his bed, his knees weak and arms heavy as he stumbled into, he kitchen at his condo house thing. At that moment in time he did not care. He needed his ‘medicine’.

Bruce had sworn to never drink out of necessity, such as at galas and events where he practically had champagne shoved down his throat by the waiters as he manoeuvred through the wealthy socialites.

Jason’s death had made him nearly break that vow. Dick cutting off all communication with him and leaving Gotham for good made him nearly break it again. Seeing Alfred cry as he polished the family photos of his parents and the few, they had of Jason nearly made him break that vow.

It was pretending his son was still alive that finally made him cave and drown his grief and self-loathing in the sweet, burning release of alcohol.

Having Jason Todd-Wayne die shortly after the death of Robin would’ve been too suspicious and would’ve roused too many questions about the possible link between the too.

So, for six whole months he lied. For three whole months he went from gala to event to gala to whatever fancy word they called standing around and drinking expensive champagne and eating expensive, snail sized food he put up the pretence of his son being alive, when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry over the loss of his boy.

It broke him. He gave into the weakness, just like many other people. He was afterall only human, though sometimes he wished he wasn’t and that he was just a rotting, eight-year-old corpse who tragically died with his parents.

At least it would mean Jason was still alive.

The whiskey burned his throat and helped him forget the pain that seared his insides like the Brand seared the flesh of Gotham’s worst.

……………………………………………………………………………………

_It had been a week since the death of Robin. Seven whole days since Bruce’s world had been ripped apart._

_Nightwing descended onto the streets of Gotham, relentlessly crusading to find the Joker, who had gone underground._

_Bruce had spent the week mourning before he allowed himself to go back on patrol. In truth he had not realised the passage of time, as the days and nights seemed to mix together in a bleak kaleidoscope ever since he had brough Jason back to the Cave._

_He had spent his time locked in the Batcave, sharpening his Batarangs and adding more metal onto his Batbombs so they would cause more pain and hurt to the criminals he would use them on._

_His time off only seemed to make the GCPD and the Gotham’s criminal underworld more fearful of his vengeful wrath._

_A week since the death of Robin. A week since Nightwing began haunting Gotham’s streets. A week of fearful anticipation from Gotham’s seedy underbelly._

_His return was swift and deadly._

_He single-handedly raided a dozen of Joker’s hideouts, hospitalising four dozen goons and branding several of the Joker’s most unhinged and brutal henchmen._

_Then he turned his attention on Scarecrow, who had been collaborating with the Joker on some bombing that would inject Gotham’s populace with a mixture of Scarecrows fear toxin and Joker’s laughing gas._

_Batman hospitalised several goons before he got the information he needed._

_Scarecrow was not expecting him, and his hideout had been lightly guarded, as many of his goons were planting the bombs._

_The GCPD handled the bombs. Batman handled Scarecrow._

_……………………………………………………………………………………_

Bruce closed his eyes, remembering Crane’s pained crimes and begging.

Bane once broke the Bat but on that night the Bat broke the Scarecrow, who would never terrorise Gotham again, his mind shattered and his body rotting away at Arkham.

……………………………………………………………………………………

_“Where is he?” Batman growled, looming over Scarecrow, his voice deathly calm with a steel, grating edge._

_“Trying to scare the Scarecrow?” replied the maniac. “You’ll have to do better than that.”_

_A tense silence stretched out between them and Batman took one step closer to the Scarecrow._

_“Where is the Joker?” He demanded; fists clenched at his sides as his cape blew softly with the breeze coming through the Batman sized hole nearby.  
The Scarecrow groaned with boredom but before he could make a sarcastic retort a gauntleted fist cracked into his jaw._

_Once Batman started, he did not stop until he had his answers._

_“Think Batman!” Scarecrow growled indignantly, his face bruised and bloodied and legs bent. “This is getting boring!”_

_Batman stopped breathing heavily, noticing the cannister of fear toxin across the room._

_“Batman don’t.” Scarecrow said softly, as Batman dragged the cannister over to him, fear lacing his tone._

_Batman cocked his head, curious at his sudden change in tone._

_“Why?” he growled, the voice modulator making his broken voice seem feral and terrifying._

_“The refined compound is being used across Gotham as we speak.” Scarecrow explained, voice weak and unsteady. “The unrefined compound was too strong and shattered the mind, making the subjects unable to experience fear or any emotion.”_

_“Where.” Batman growled, hand dropping to his utility belt._

_“Is”. He pulled out a gas mask_

_“The.” He puled it over his face and pulled Scarecrow up and pushed his face next to the lid of the canister._

_“Joker?” Batman roared, one hand holding Scarecrow’s head right next to the lid of the cannister and the other holding the lid, ready to uncork it._

_“I don’t know!” Scarecrow cried, eyes alight with fear._

_Batman turned the lid a little to the left._

_“I swear I really don’t!” He begged, broken fingers clawing to get away._

_Batman turned it a little more to the left, a soft hissing beginning to escape._

_“Somewhere in the East End!” Scarecrow finally cried and Batman leaned down next to the Scarecrow’s ear._

_“Thanks for your cooperation.” He growled, uncorking the lid and pushing Scarecrow’s face into the green-brown gas the leaked out, holding the ex-professor of psychology directly over the opened canister, making sure inhaled the entirety of its contents before calling the GCPD and leaving the Scarecrow next to the empty cannister._

_……………………………………………………………………………………_

Bruce frowned an rubbed a hand over his face furiously, trying to get rid of the lingering guilt he sometimes felt over what he had done to Crane.

“He deserved it.” Something dark growled. “He did the same to innumerable innocents. Shattered their lives and minds without remorse.”

“But we did the same to him” Something lighter and grey growled. “We are no better than Scarecrow.”

The glass slipped out of his hands and Bruce growled, not noticing how the shook as he bent down to shovel up the broken glass in his hands.

……………………………………………………………………………………

_Batman’s return had left nearly two hundred criminals in hospital. A record high._

_Many would be there for months. Some would be there for longer._

_Batman did not care. All he wanted was vengeance._

_He tore through East End. Known hideouts, seedy bars, abandoned buildings. He looked everywhere and left no stone unturned._

_He found Joker at the Ace Chemical Plant two weeks after the death of Robin. Of Jason Todd. Of his son._

_The maniac knew it was over, his army of goons destroyed by the combined wrath of Batman and Nightwing, Harley Quinn locked up in Arkham after being captured by Nightwing._

_He laughed. He found it hilarious that he had murdered his son. Murdered hundreds of innocents._

_It was all just a game to him._

_The Joker ran, a pitiful attempt to escape._

_Batman through a bola, which wrapped around his legs and caused him to tumble over the steel railing._

_He heled onto to it for dear life, skinny arms shaking as he tried to pull himself up._

_Batman looked in Joker’s eyes and watched as he fell into a vat of green acid._

_The Joker would never terrorise Gotham again._

_……………………………………………………………………………………_

Bruce through the broken glass into the bin, getting a tea towel and cleaning the small amount of whiskey that had spilled onto the floor.

Dick had gone back to Bludhaven without another word following the Joker’s death, vowing never to come back to Gotham.

Bruce occasionally saw reports on the news about Nightwing, who often went toe to toe with Deathstroke, who Bruce had been meaning to track down but never had the time.

Harley Quinn had escaped Arkham a month ago and had resurrected the remains of Joker’s gang, vowing vengeance for the death of her ‘sweet puddin’.

They hadn’t yet made a move, something that troubled Bruce deeply.

Penguin had recently begun to make moves into Bane’s territory and the threat of a gang war between the two loomed dangerously over Gotham.

Adding onto Bruce’s lists of concerns was the peculiar radio chatter going through the US military right now, something to do with an incident in a place called Smallville.

Adding onto that Bruce had to be up and early at the airport tomorrow to cross the harbour to go to Metropolis for a meeting with Jack O’Dwyer, the Wayne Financial advisor who works at the Wayne Financial Building.

If there is one thing the Wayne’s are not good at it is coming up with new names.

Sighing and wishing he could just stay up all night and drink, Bruce reluctantly stumbled back to his bed, exhaustion eventually winning out and causing him to fall into the black abyss of sleep.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Diana, Princess of Themyscira and Champion of the Amazons and the Olds Gods, watched as the convoy rumbled down the previously quiet and silent Rue de Rivoli.

She stood atop the Louvre Palace, watching as the two black SUVs drove protectively in front and behind a plain white truck. Her enhanced sight allowed her to see far clearer than any mortal could, allowing her to count the number of guards ever so slightly visible behind the black tinted SUV.

 _“Four guards per SUV.”_ Diana concluded thoughtfully _“as per usual.”_

The vehicles rumbled by and Diana took a moment to pause and think, the wind gently brushing against her armour.

She had not donned her armour since 2002, where she had hunted and defeated the thief and killer Slipknot, only aiding the American Federal Bureau of Investigation in taking down murderer thief due to his cruelty towards women.

It was nearly elven years since then and she was wondering whether it was even worth it getting involved in whatever mysterious activity that was occurring at the decade old LexCorp research lab in Paris.

Diana may be a hundred years old in Man’s World and trying to lay low but that did not mean she was uninformed of the world’s events.

Lex Luthor Senior had turned the aging petrochemical and heavy machinery company into a technology giant that surpassed the likes of Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries in terms of R&D budget and military defense contracts, one of which LexCorp had with the French Government which led to the laboratory’s construction in late 2003.

Recently however mysterious shipments had been headed towards a private airport outside of Paris from the laboratory, something that unnerved Diana greatly, as for the past ten years their had been nothing secretive about the laboratory that had seemingly been working on a prosthetic limbs for soldiers wounded in war.

So why was LexCorp secretly transporting something at the dead of night with a convoy guard by at least a dozen men armed with automatic assault rifles capable of shooting through Kevlar with ease?

Diana did not like it one little bit.

Nothing about it added up either. Why be so secretive yet so obvious it took her a three months of research to find out what weapons the guards were using, figure out where they were going, the average time it took for the convoy to arrive there, figure out everything she possibly could about LexCorp and its lab in Paris?

Why was it so underdefended? If it were important there would be more than two protective vehicles.

None of it made any sense and that both worried, frustrated, and intrigued Diana.

The vehicles rumbled. It was now or never.

The wind lightly brushed through her hair, a gentle breeze reigning in Paris.

The skies were dark and foreboding, the moon hidden and yet there.

Time slowed as the first SUV turned right. Now or never.

Diana sighed as the moment passed, the truck turning right and being hastily followed by the final black SUV.

 _“A few more days of observation.”_ She told herself for the third time in two weeks, knowing she would only end up doing the same in a couple of days’ time.

She did not fear whatever Luthor did not want to be seen in public and daylight. For all she knew they were simply the prosthetic limbs the lab claimed to be working on.

 _“Heavily guarded prosthetic limbs.”_ Something ominous in her mind warned but she shook the thought away. The moment had passed.

When had she become so lethargic?

 _“Sometime in the hundred years of genocides, wars, death, dictatorships, destruction, betrayals and political strife.”_ Her mind said darkly, and she shook that thought away with the gentle breeze.

She had come to free mankind from Ares influence and succeeded. She had promised to remain and protect mankind, albeit cautiously and distantly and she had succeeded, defeating ancient creatures accidentally awoken by man and aliens that had accidentally landed on Earth and developed a liking for Man’s Flesh.

 _“Why were you during the rise of fascism then communism, where were you when the Iron curtain rose, when the British caused the Middle East to descend into chaos, when the Americans and Russians played chess with the world’s countries?”_ Her mind asked tauntingly. _“Where was your protection then?”_

Diana shoved the dark thoughts into the dark recesses of her mind, refusing to allow the darkness that had began to take root in her since she killed Ares, since the Dr Poison's attack on Veld and the death of Steve Trevor, to take control of her.

She refused to allow Ares win by letting the darkness inside her take root.

She arrived at her apartment, laying the Lasso of Hestia next to her shield, followed by her tiara and the Bracelets of Submission. She took a moment to test the edges of the Sword of Athena, which she had acquired to replace Godkiller after her previous swords' demise at the hands of Ares. Once satisfied at its sharpness, Diana took off her battle armour, more than ready to drop into her bed, wondering when in exactly 95 years in Man's World she had lost the will to seek out the potential dangers to Man's World, rather than simply waiting for it to occur for her to stop it.

Sleep had never been more welcomed by Diana in all of her millennia long life.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as it took off and began soaring above Gotham harbour, Bruce knew something bad was happening in Metropolis.

“What the hell is that!” His pilot exclaimed, staring at the at the alien ship floating above Metropolis, a blue beam shooting down from it.

“Don’t turn around.” Bruce growled, pulling out his cell phone and trying to call Jack, knowing that something ad was about to happen.

It took two minutes to arrive at Metropolis.

By then squadrons of military jets were soaring past, some opening fire at whatever it was that was floating above Metropolis.

The helicopter pad grew closer and Bruce couldn’t wait any longer for it to land, his two thousand damn dollar phone not getting any reception despite its state-of-the-art technology.

He pulled open the helicopter doors, running over to the waiting SUV, pausing at the open door as the ground and the air shook, the alien laser beam seemingly pulling the ground up before slamming it once more into the ground.

Bruce took a second, needed that one second to compute and breath.

Then he was in the SUV, driving away as something crashed into the ground nearby and caused a yellow red and orange explosion.

_Jason_

No, it was not a warehouse, it was a fighter jet.

Bruce drove onwards.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Diana woke early in the morning, something twisting in her gut and something yelling at her to get out of bed and ready for battle.

And so, she did.

She raced into her living room, quickly yet cautiously, fearing an ambush of some sort.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.

So, what had had her waking up from a dreamless, pleasant sleep?

……………………………………………………………………………………

Bruce swerved through the streets of Metropolis, driving past crashing fighter jets and panicked drivers as the SUV thrummed from the force of whatever the alien ship was doing to Metropolis.

Swerving right at the last second at the pavement and tarmac crumbled and shattered ahead of him, Bruce retried calling Jack, hoping it wasn’t too late.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Jack O’Dwyer turned from his worried employees, hiding his own concern, and keeping a calm face to try and alleviate the worry and fear from his workers, and picking up his phone as buzzed in his pocket.

 _“Jack!”_ the voice on the other end of the call said, and Jack recognised it as Bruce, worry and calm and authority all showing in the one word he had spoken.

“Bruce?” Jack asked, hoping his friend and employer had not yet arrived in Metropolis, as the alien ship seemingly pulled the very ground of Metropolis up in the distance.

 _“Jack listen to me.”_ Bruce said, his voice calm and collected even through the wavering reception of his cell phone. _“I want you to get everyone out of the building right now!”_

The alien ship fired in the distance, and Jack watched as buildings three blocks away crumbled and fell like dominos.

“God.” He murmured softly, as the window cracked, and his employees screamed with fear that he felt all too well.

……………………………………………………………………………………

“Jack?” Bruce asked, hearing screams and the sounds of crumbling buildings and Jack’s distant voice through the cell phone. “Jack!”

 _“Damn it!”_ Bruce thought as he gripped the steering wheel instincts taking over as two cars crashed just in front of him, swerving right onto a nearly deserted street.

Ahead of him a missile crashed onto the pavement, prompting the car to flip and for a horrible second Bruce stared at the fear and pain etched onto the driver and her passenger’s face.

The passenger was a boy less than ten years old.

A jet then scraped into a building, its kerosene fuel adding to the massive, burning explosion ahead of him and Bruce swerved left into an alley just as a burning traffic light and the charred remains of the fighter jet came crashing past, the flames of the explosion following him as he turned sharply, crashing into a garbage dumpster before driving onward.

He drove onto another road, swerving past an oncoming car and taking a sharp right to avoid crashing into a Metropolis Police cruiser and a fire truck.

Then a buildings collapse behind him as a ship crashed through them like a hot knife through butter and he swerved to avoid cars and falling debris as the ship overtook him.

He took yet another right, watching in the corner of his eyes as people disappeared under chunks of concrete.

And then he slowed, leaning forward as he saw the massive crowd of people congregated just ahead of him.

He did not look away for a second as he stared at the alien ship, which had seemingly ended it’s attack, three pincers like claws folded closer together and bluish beam gone, concrete and torn up pavement no longer floating around it.

He had a bad feeling that this attack wasn’t over yet.

……………………………………………………………………………………

No sign of intruders or an intrusion, Diana paced around her living room.

Something must’ve happened to awake her at six o’clock in the morning, and it definitely was not her alarm.

This feeling was familiar, and she did not like that familiarity one bit.

_It was April 7 th, 1994. She was currently staying at Kampala, the capital of Uganda, deciding to rest the night there after defeating a recently and accidentally awakened Chimera, which had awoken from its thousand-year slumber when a local accidentally stumbled across its cave. How it arrived their she did not know, all that mattered to her was that it was dead._

_She awoke early the next morning, a panful feeling in her gut and her senses screaming at her to wake up._

_She feared that she had made a mistake and the Chimera was still alive, so she donned her battle armour and search the city and countryside for nearly two months, somehow remerging at Tororo after following tracks she believed to be the Chimera’s._

_It was there she learned about the atrocities occurring in Rwanda._

Diana shuddered at the memory, striding over to her television that sat forlornly at the edge of her apartment.

If she had simply listened to the news that day, she would not have gone on a wild goose chase that led her nowhere and she might have been able to save lives.

So, she turned on the news and watched as something destroyed Metropolis, with anger and shame in her heart, knowing she was too late to help or stop it.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Jack herded the last few Wayne employees out of the floor, watching as they disappeared in terrified mass of fleeing workers that were stampeding down the emergency exits.

Jack turned and looked back at the seemingly empty offices, knowing that he should leave now before the alien ship destroyed Metropolis and the building.

But what if someone was still there, hurt and unconscious in their office?

Jack had at least a dozen employees who he could name off the top of his head who had heart conditions, and the stress of an alien attack could cause them to have a heart attack or a stroke or something serious and along those lines.

Jack turned away from his only means of escape, looking through the offices to make sure he had evacuated everyone from his floor.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Bruce watched as a plane crashed into the alien ship, arcing electricity pulling it in before it exploded in a kaleidoscope of orange and distant yellow.

Almost instantly energy pulsed out of the ship, causing Bruce to shield his eyes from dust and glass and whatever else the ship had emitted, taking a second to watch as the ship begin to curl in on itself.

Then he set off running, past burning cars, past moaning bodies, and broken bodies. He ran, knowing he was close to his building and could help with the evacuation to make sure everybody got out, worrying about any potential damage caused by the alien ships’ earlier attack.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Jack walked towards the cracked window in confusion. Metropolis was in ruins, yet the cause of its destruction was nowhere to be seen.

Then a building across the way exploded into dust and falling debris and it took a second for him to compute two things.

Whatever was soaring towards the building would land on the floor below him.

The thing soaring towards his building were two people, seemingly locked together in combat.

The building shuddered with their impact. The lights flickered. The walls, the floor and the ceiling vibrated with the after effect of its impact.

It was in that instant he knew that his time had come.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Bruce turned just in time to see his building explode, glass and concrete falling down onto a herd of his fleeing employees.

Blood. Screams. Death.

He tried ringing Jack, hoping he had got out of the building, knowing deep inside his friend was still inside and trying to get as many people out as possible.

 _“I’m sorry…”_ the automated voice through his phone said, the rest blurring as beams burst out of his building, burning through the walls, and crashing into the neighbouring buildings.

Bruce did not know what to look at. The destruction of the building he owned which had at least a thousand workers or the debris that fell on those that had escaped it, mauling, injuring, hurting. Killing.

Then it fell, falling like he fell into a cave of darkness and bats so long ago.

It fell, with hundreds of trapped workers, people with families and lives and hopes and dream. People looking forward to going home to their families, pets, friends. People with plans to go out tonight with workmates and friends from outside of work. People planning on taking their kids to the movies. People planning on having a night in with their loved ones.

It fell onto the people below. People who were frightened and scared shitless in their final moments, as tonnes of concrete and glass and metal and wiring fell on top of them. They had thought they had escaped their demise, that they were safe since they were no longer in the building that had just barely survived destruction at the hands of an alien warship.

Bruce watched it fall, fear, rage, loss, grief, hate, worry bubbling and boiling inside him, needing to be released.

“JACK!” He screamed, releasing the burning emotions, running towards the clouds of dust that others were fleeing from.

He did not think. He only acted. Acted on the screaming inside him that told him to run into the danger and the dust. Run towards the death and the pain.

Because he knew that there would be survivors and that compared to them, the dead would be the lucky ones.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Diana watched in horror as a building seemingly exploded, the beams of energy slicing through the walls and the foundations and carving out a large chunk of the building, causing it to fall in a mess of shattered glass and broken concrete and plumes of grey dust.

She was thousands of miles away, every single bone in her body screaming at her to help, to pick up her sword and shield and kill whatever it was that was destroying Metropolis.

But she couldn’t. She was incapable to help the helpless, the thousands of dying and injured.

All she could do was watch, powerless despite her powers, helpless despite her strength, as skyscraper after skyscraper fell like a domino.

……………………………………………………………………………………

He could not see, the smoke and dust so dense and strong that it engulfed him whole, the ringing in his ears shrill and distant.

A horse trotted past him, belonging to Metropolis police though it had no rider.

He walked past a man who stood still, eyes distant and foggy, yet as clear as warm summer day. There were alive, watching as he walked past. Yet they wished to be closed. To be dead. To be at peace away from the chaos and the ringing.

Bruce ran ahead, seeing people staggering away from the ruins of the place where they once worked. They seemed to be physically fine, so he continued past, his gut twisting painfully when he saw the line of children walk past, hand in hand in order to not get lost in the cloud of dust, their teacher encouraging them as they stifled whimpers and tears.

A kid wandered, confusion clear in her innocent youthful eyes that reminded him of Jason and Dick when he was young.

“Back in line kid.” He told her softly as he gently guided her back to the line of children and the arms of the teacher bringing up the rear of the group.

Two of his employees staggered past, one helping the other, and before he could move to help them, he heard someone cry out with desperation. Crying out his name.

“Mister Wayne!” He cried, tears in his eyes from pain and adrenaline and fear. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“We need help over here!” Bruce shouted, drawing the attention of some survivors nearby, sifting through the rubble and calling out names of friends and family.

The man whimpered, hand stretched towards him and Bruce moved closer to him, letting him grab onto his arm for reassurance.

“Help me.” He pleaded, dust on his clothes and face and everywhere. “I can’t feel my legs!”

“Your gonna be okay.” Bruce reassured him, looking at the pain and the fear and the hope in the man’s eyes, glancing to look at his nametag. “Wallace. What do they call you? Wally?”

Something sparked in the man’s eyes at the sound of his name and nickname, his breathing steadying ever so slightly.

“You’re the boss, boss.” He said, his voice steeling itself with determination. Determination to survive.

Bruce felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips as he patted the man on the shoulder and looked at the metal beam that trapped him as three other people came over, answering Bruce’s call for help.

Bruce helped pull up the beam, groaning at its weight, as two others helped pull Wally out from underneath it.

It was then when he heard it and looked up, fear gripping him as he saw the hunk of metal fall towards a little girl, who did not see it fell like the killing blow of a sword.

He ran as fast he could, ducking beneath the falling metal and grabbing the girl out of its way as it crashed to the ground, kicking up even more dust.

“It’s okay, your gonna be okay. Alright.” Bruce looked at the girl, her eyes filled with fear and pain and confusion. “We’re gonna find your mom. Do you know where she was?”

The girl raised her hand, pointing to the few remaining floors of the Wayne Financial Building, and Bruce felt the hope sap from his body as he felt a familiar pain.

All he could do was let the girl hug him, holding her firmly yet softly, watching as something burned through the orbit, crashing, and burning with its descent.

Throw the burning hunks of metal, he could faintly see a blood red cape, whipping in the wind as it crashed through another skyscraper.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Clark looked at Zod lifeless body, the heat leaving his eyes and becoming cold and distant. His x-ray vision showed him the fractured neck that had ended Zod. The fracture he had caused.

He had killed the only other surviving Kryptonian. He truly was the last son of Krypton now and he only had himself to blame.

“He was going to kill that family out of nothing but spite.” He reassured himself.

 _“Listen.”_ Something cold and hateful that sound like Zod demanded and he did.

Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.

Screaming, filled with pain, fear and grief, and there were millions more, shocked gasps, and cries at the sight of the destruction wrought on Metropolis.

Crashing, the buildings still fell, parts of the satellite he had destroyed still landing and burning and killing.

All he could do was fall to his knees and scream with the shame and grief over the destruction he had caused and the deaths he had caused that were the very opposite of everything he was supposed to be.

_A bridge between two worlds._


End file.
